Minutes passed. The dawn grew brighter in a pale, clear, tender sky. The men began to fidget. Then—a relief—the order came to march on. The column moved on a little, then stopped again.
Le Goffic came up—he who lay, looking like death, beside him now. "Monsieur Augustin, the men are getting impatient—that is to say——"
"Tell them," interrupted La Vireville brutally, "that I have given you orders to shoot instantly anyone who either stirs now, or who refuses to stir when he is told to!"
For he knew what Le Goffic's euphemism meant.
And then at last St. Four came hurrying back, the sweat on his face and tears of wrath in his eyes.
"D'Hervilly is mad—mad!" he gasped. "He is going to attack away there on the left front by himself—with the left wing only. He says Hector can 'come on afterwards!' Hector will be wiped out if they go back now under the fire of the batteries to rejoin the left wing . . . and so shall we be! But go back they will—there is nothing else to do. My God, what insanity!"
If Hector went back, so must the Chouans, or be left in the air. It was the death-knell of the little irregular force. Both men knew it, and their faces were very grim as they stared at one another for a moment. Then La Vireville turned away to give his orders. So much for the sound, the obvious, plan of attacking the batteries in the rear!
Before he had finished, the drums of the régiment d'Hector, on their left, were beating the charge. . . .
Le Goffic groaned. His leader got up, and, as well as he could with one arm in a sling, gave him a drink.